


Blood and Wine

by sigrid_sloan



Series: Too Long for this World [2]
Category: The Old Guard (2020 Movie), The Old Guard (2020)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Drabble, I literally watched the movie an hour ago and got excited, M/M, Mild Gore, No smooching yet, Not canon with the graphic novel, One Shot, Pre-Canon, Pre-Relationship, Short & Sweet, They will not bone for another like... fifty years, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-12
Updated: 2020-07-12
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:01:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 591
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25215160
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sigrid_sloan/pseuds/sigrid_sloan
Summary: The Christians had laid siege for four grueling days, but that was two weeks ago.Now, in the middle of nowhere, Yusuf spat out a split tooth as another squeezed into place.“Why will you not DIE!” he wheezed.
Relationships: Joe/Nicky
Series: Too Long for this World [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1826884
Comments: 8
Kudos: 371





	Blood and Wine

The Christians had laid siege for four grueling days, but that was two weeks ago. 

Now, in the middle of nowhere, Yusuf spat out a split tooth as another squeezed into place.

“Why will you not DIE!” he wheezed, trembling hand gripping through days of dried blood on his sword. They were very much alone, here in the desert and days from any help. Yusuf's stronghold was several attempted murders behind him. Part of him realized he would never see it again, but that part was fading as the morning light warmed the arid landscape around him in an endless copper glow.

His enemy leaned on his pike, grey eyes squinting in the sun while his free leg snapped back into place. “Quale diavolo ti tiene in vita?!” sighed the Christian. Yusuf knew nothing of the stranger’s language, but the man’s stare made it clear his enemy’s shared condition was equally confounding.

Yusuf dragged himself to his feet. What has started among the siege had led out here, far into the desert, away from their respective armies and healers, into the endless shrug and sand. Under blazing sun and gripping night they had wrestled, sliced, strangled, pommeled, drowned in sand, stabbed, concussed, impaled, and even once thrown off a rock, until finding themselves a week’s walk from both of their armies. By Yusuf’s count he should have died seventeen times (and his enemy _eighteen_ , God willing) but some unnatural force kept dragging him back from the embrace of death. Initially one would try to flee the other, taking brief refuge to sleep or briefly eat, but each time Yusuf tried to sleep he saw _him,_ the Crusader, furious and sunburned and single-minded in his focus.

And so their dance had led here, a goat pasture, days from any village and warm in the light of the dawn. The sun was creeping over the rocky hills in the distance, and the Christian was silhouetted against it.

The Christian stumbled forward. “Questo diavolo ci tortura entrambi,” he said. The Christian moved slowly, _too_ slowly, setting his pike on the ground.

Yusuf’s brow furrowed. But instead of mirroring the action, he raised his sword to his hand, and stabbed it through, a curse escaping as he quickly withdrew the blade and watched the wound close. The Christian watched as well, pointing, before yelping sharply as he grabbed his own index finger and snapped it backwards.

Yusuf gestured affirmatively. “Same,” he said, not realizing his volume increased as he tried to communicate, “We have the same problem.”

“Stesso problema,” the Christian remarked with a cringe.

Yusuf sat on the ground.

The Christian lowered himself with the pike as leverage, then unceremoniously flopped to the ground.

The sun was warm, and its shine caught in the Christian’s hair.

“I don’t think we should kill each other,” Yusuf said.

His enemy locked eyes with him. They stared at one another, in a moment that felt endless, and pregnant with meaning.

The Christian fumbled in his tunic, and pulled out a flagon of water, holding it towards Yusuf as an offer.

“Vino,” he said.

Yusuf reached out to take the flagon. Their fingers, dusted in the other’s dried blood, briefly touched.

Whatever liquid was in the flagon was more sour than sin – Yusuf spat it out with a grimace. “This isn’t water!”

The Christian frowned. “Ti ho detto che era vino.”

Yusuf pointed at the flagon. “Wine.”

The Christian pointed. “Vino.”

Yusuf tried out the word. “Vino?”

The Christian’s lips tugged in the specter of a smile. “Vino.”


End file.
